


Cocktail Friday Collection

by Kangofu_CB



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Cocktail Friday challenges, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, see individual chapters for warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-16 20:39:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13061727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: All of these are individual responses to This Week In Gundam Wing Event's Cocktail Friday prompts.  Pairings vary.  Individual chapter warnings and pairings should be heeded.





	1. Happy Hour

**Author's Note:**

> I promise there is no NCS or Major Character Death in any of the following ficlets.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cocktail Friday Prompt:
> 
> “How ‘bout a drink to celebrate?”
> 
> “It’s 8am.”
> 
> 2x3. NSFWish but not explicit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was unbeta'd, so please be kind!

“Wanna get a drink to celebrate?”

 

The voice was familiar, warm and genial, and utterly noxious to the current pounding in his head and the dryness of his eyes.

 

Trowa rolled over with a groan to glare blearily at the alarm clock next to his bed.

 

His bedmate was entirely too cheerful for how much like garbage he felt at the moment.

 

“Duo. It’s 8 am.”

 

“Five o’clock somewhere,” the other man argued, sounding obscenely amused. He’d had significantly less to drink than Trowa had the previous evening, and it was obviously paying off this morning.

 

Trowa turned his head to find the other man propped on an elbow, waggling his eyebrows impressively, the sheets just barely pulled up to his waist. Clearly he was used to early mornings, and now he was wide awake much earlier than Trowa would’ve liked, all things considered.

 

Still.

 

It was a distracting picture.

 

“What are we celebrating?” Trowa asked, rather than following the line of his thoughts to their natural conclusion.

 

“The resolution of our previously-unresolved sexual tension.”

 

Trowa was hungover. Disgustingly, horribly hungover, because thirty (or a reasonable approximation thereof, given that he didn’t actually know when his birthday was) had hit like a ton of bricks, and copious alcohol and smoky club air were nearly as punishing as a short stent in an Oz prison these days. But he wasn’t so hungover that he didn’t have an immediate, visceral reaction to the reminder that they had, in fact, resolved their infamous sexual tension.

 

Rather spectacularly, as the vivid purple marks along Duo’s collarbone evidenced.

 

“I don’t want anything to drink again, ever,” he muttered, before moving, rolling so that Duo was pinned underneath him. “But I can think of a half dozen other ways to celebrate.”

 

“Only a half dozen?” Laughing violet eyes crinkled up at him. “I’m almost disappointed, I can think of at least-”

 

Trowa found that his recently-discovered very effective means of shutting Duo up was still delightfully successful on the morning after.


	2. Beach Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week's prompt was a photo prompt found here:
> 
> https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/167212308475/cocktail-friday-prompt-remember-to-post-your
> 
> 2x4, WAFF
> 
> Duo and Quatre go to the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another unbeta'd ficlet. Please be kind :)

Duo’s oceanic experiences could be easily summed up into two things.

 

Sweeper ship surrounded by fathomless depths more intimidating than the darkness of space had ever been. (Shit LIVED. IN THE OCEAN. BIG SHIT.)

Heero floating facedown in a dark, dank harbor while his Gundam floated to the surface.

 

Needless to say, he wasn’t enamoured.

 

So when Quatre had suggested a beach vacation he’d been lukewarm at best, to Quatre’s utter surprise. And of course, it did Duo no good to fake enthusiasm. You didn’t fake things with Quatre Winner.

 

But he’d agreed to go and Quatre had made all the arrangements, from shuttle tickets to hotel bookings, insistent on taking Duo on a vacation he’d never forget.

 

Providenciales was as far as one could get from salvage vessels and ship harbors, but no less overwhelming with the miles of white sand and endless expanse of sparkling blue water. Quatre’s excited rattling off of activity choices - snorkeling, parasailing, actual sailing, kayaking, the list went on and on - didn’t really help.

 

“Can we-” Duo sighed, “can we just go down and look?”

 

Quatre took in the look on his face and, probably, his emotional volatility, and smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners.

 

“Of course.”

 

It wasn’t any less overwhelming up close, but the sand was cool between his toes, and the breeze coming off the ocean was nice, the sound of the waves against the shore soothing. Quatre tugged at his hand as they dropped their flip flops under two thoughtfully proved lounge chairs, dragging him out towards the water. Duo stood hesitantly at the edges.

 

He could swim. Howard had made sure of that, once he’d gotten to Earth, and he’d swam in the ocean before, but not like this.

 

The water swirling around his ankles was warm, not frigid, and only a few feet from where he stood, colorful fish darted about, clearly accustomed to human presence. He allowed Quatre to tug him out knee-deep, watched as some of the larger fish investigated his toes, let himself be pulled in for a slow, explorative kiss. Relaxed minutely as he got accustomed to the waves lapping around his thighs, the familiar feel of the man in his arms.

 

Pulling back, eyes the same color as the ocean around him met his, forehead crinkling in concern, but Quatre didn’t say anything, just waded with him back to shore.

 

At their loungers, Duo set to work arranging the complimentary umbrella, sorting it so that most of the shade fell over Quatre, who still maintained that pale spacer skin, thanks to hours and days spent in suits. Duo hadn’t fared much better, but he at least got outside some, even if it was just to tinker on his bike.

 

Quatre rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything, well accustomed to Duo’s incessant need to make sure everyone he cared about was, well, cared for.

 

The hotel provided beachside service and it took next to no time for one of them to appear, as if by magic, ready to provide for their every whim. Quatre ordered drinks, and then settled into his lounger with a sigh, content to gaze at the view as the sun dropped lower and lower in the sky.

 

The waiter reappeared, glasses in hand, depositing them on the small table between the two, and after he left Quatre reached out, tangling their fingers on the tabletop, as they watched the sunset in silence.

 

Duo figured he could learn to like the ocean, maybe.


	3. Champagne in the Whale Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relena x Hilde
> 
> Part of a larger, as yet unpublished fic, which is a sequel to Don't You Know.
> 
> Relena and Hilde attend a black-tie event at the American Museum of Natural History, courtesy Milliardo Peacecraft.

Hilde wondered what the fuck she was doing, even as she leaned closer to the mirror to carefully touch up her eyeliner. 

 

The scarring on her hands was painfully visible in the bright, white light of the makeup mirror. It wasn’t disfiguring, just the small marks of her life, collected over time. Scrapes and abrasions from combat training. Callouses from her pistol grip. A slide scar from the first time she ever fired a gun. 

 

But they were revealing. 

 

They said everything about her, at a party like the one she would be attending. Evidence that, despite the expensive dress and expertly done makeup - thanks to a consultation at MAC - she didn’t belong. People circulating in the social spheres of Milliardo Peacecraft, heir to a fashion empire, didn’t have scarred, calloused hands. 

 

At least she was dressed appropriately. Or so Quatre, who - though he was the public District Attorney, rather than the high-priced corporate lawyer his father had intended - had grown up in the same wealthy environment, had assured her she would be.  She could spot the subtle differences that differentiated an H&K from a Glock at a distance, but Quatre had had to help her buy a dress.

 

It was Peacecraft’s birthday celebration, the public one he hosted for business acquaintances and minor celebrities and the paparazzi, and it was to this he had invited Relena. 

 

A taste of the life she could have, if she would allow herself to be drawn into the fold. 

 

When Relena has requested a plus one, he’d acquiesced easily, and she had practically begged Hilde to come with her. 

 

Hilde was quickly finding herself unable to tell the other woman no. 

 

About anything. 

 

Which is how she found herself standing in her cramped, cold bathroom in a long, plum-colored, one shoulder gown, which showed off her slim, muscled frame more attractively than she’d expected. Hopefully she didn’t break her neck in the sky high heels. She’d bought the dress too late to have it hemmed, and while she could stand and walk in the shoes, anything more athletic was going to result in some sort of injury.

 

Duo had nearly laughed himself sick when she’d shown him the stock photo of the dress, and while she was definitely more comfortable in a tank top and jeans, it didn’t mean Hilde didn’t know how to dress like a real girl. 

 

And she  _ did _ look very much like a real girl, her short hair carefully smoothed into place and sparkling baubles hanging from her ears and throat.  One last swipe of mascara and Hilde leaned back to survey the damage.  She sighed.

 

She felt like an imposter.

 

Of course, she  _ was _ an imposter, in more ways than one, but Milliardo Peacecraft didn’t know that.

 

From the back of her closet she dug out a plain black clutch and warm wool coat, dropping her phone and lipstick into the tiny bag and sat down on the couch, gingerly, to wait.  Relena had assured her they’d have a ride, and Hilde wasn’t in a hurry to wait downstairs in the frigid lobby, or on the sidewalk for a cab.  

 

She’d just started to let herself relax when the phone chirped inside her bag.

 

_ I’m downstairs. _

 

Hilde gathered her things, buttoning the coat up to her throat, and made her way out of the apartment, locking the door behind her.  One rickety elevator ride down and then she was stepping out of the front door of building into the swirling snow and wind with a shiver, the skirt of her gown tangling around her legs and making her feel as though she had  _ nothing _ on.

 

This was why she wore  _ pants _ .

 

Directly in front of her, a limo waited, a capped driver standing by the door.

 

Hilde glanced around in confusion and-

 

The driver opened the door and Hilde watched a familiar blonde head peek out, hair softly curling around her neck and shoulders, as Relena grinned at her sheepishly.  Saving her questions for the moment, Hilde ducked into the blessedly warm car, sliding slightly on the leather seats as she tried to get herself, her skirt, and her shoes into the car and the heat as quickly as possible.

 

As soon as the door was shut, firmly ensconcing the two of them in the warmth - Relena  _ clearly _ had the heat going on full blast, as usual - Hilde began unbuttoning the coat before she started sweating through her silk gown.

 

She’d make a great impression, no doubt, showing up at a Peacecraft event with sweat stains.  

 

Relena looked beautiful, draped in some sort of floaty, royal blue fabric, lace along the neckline, cinched at the waist.  She was still smiling ruefully as Hilde finally managed to wrestle her way out of the coat and drape it along the seat next to them.

 

“A limo?” Hilde asked, finally, glancing around at the lavish interior, and away from the attractive woman sitting next to her, their knees brushing as the car pulled smoothly away from the curb. “Really?”

 

“Milliardo insisted,” the blonde woman replied, rolling her eyes.  She gestured towards the small bar, where a chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses were waiting.

 

Hilde didn’t even  _ like _ champagne, but if Peacecraft was going to go to the trouble of providing it, she was certainly planning to drink it.  She reached for the bottle, pouring both glasses just over half full and passing one to Relena.  She got another eyeroll in response, but Relena lifted the glass to her lips, taking a sip.

 

And promptly made a face.

 

Champagne, Hilde knew, tasted  _ nothing _ like you expected.  It was golden and pretty, bubbly and sparkly, and, in her opinion, tasted bitter and sharp.  It looked like it should be delightfully fizzy and refreshing, but the reality was something altogether different.

 

Not unlike the Peacecraft empire, actually.

 

Hilde laughed as Relena wrinkled her nose, raising her own glass.

 

This champagne was better than most she’d had - it was probably horrendously expensive - but the lingering sour taste was as she remembered.

 

Maybe it got better if you drank more of it, like most other alcohols.  She tossed back the entire glass, swallowing with a grimace, and refilled her glass.

 

Relena stared at her in horror, and Hilde laughed again, shrugging.  “Maybe if we show up drunk, the party will seem fun?”

 

Making another face, Relena followed her example, tilting the glass back to gulp down the fizzy drink and holding her glass out with a gasp for air.  “Maybe you’re right,” she admitted, slightly breathless, “pour me another.”

 

By the time they arrived at their destination they were both slightly tipsy, the champagne bottle completely empty and the two of them much more relaxed than they had been.  They could do this.  Hilde could play attentive girlfriend, and Relena could play slightly hesitant sister, and soon, hopefully, they’d have the information they needed to bring this charade to an end. 

 

Relena leaned her head on Hilde’s shoulder, and she was reminded, suddenly, that the other woman was younger, a kindergarten teacher, and, frankly, a very cheap date.  So whilst Hilde was only slightly tipsy, years of drinking to keep up with cops and her own family behind her, Relena was probably well on her way to intoxicated after a half bottle of champagne.

 

Hilde plucked her glass out of Relena’s hand, draining the contents and sat it back in the cupholder on the bar.

 

“Thanks for coming with me.”

 

Hilde barely heard the words, delivered as they were, quiet and subdued against her shoulder, Relena’s breath hot against her bare skin.  She reached down to twine their fingers together, comparing Relena’s manicure to her own bare nails, her soft skin to Hilde’s rougher palms.  

 

“Anytime.”

 

Anytime being anytime during this mockery of a relationship, or that’s probably what Relena assumed, but Hilde-

 

Hilde was beginning to realize just how far she’d committed herself to the diminutive blonde next to her, just how far she’d go to keep her safe, to see her happy and-

 

Relena looked up, met her eyes, and Hilde held her gaze.  Relena’s eyes were a few shades darker than her own, though the color often changed, Hilde had noticed, with her mood and her clothes, and the rich blue of her gown probably brought out the same shade in her eyes.  Relena shifted, slightly, and they were pressed together from shoulder to hip, their entwined hands trapped between them.

 

Tilting her chin, Hilde felt Relena’s breath ghost over her cheek, and she leaned forward-

 

They both jumped as the door to the limousine opened with a blast of arctic air, and Hilde cursed, expressively, in both English and Italian.

 

Her Noni would have washed her mouth out with soap.

 

The chuckle that floated in through the open door was both cultured and mildly amused, and Hilde was horrified to see Milliardo Peacecraft lean in to offer her his hand.  Giving Relena’s hand a squeeze, Hilde let go, hurrying to pull her coat on over her dress and grab her bag.  

 

She accepted Peacecraft’s hand out of the limo, releasing it as quickly as possible, and then they both turned to help Relena, causing him to let out another of the quiet chuckles.  Relena looked between the two of them, gave Hilde a pointed look at her feet, and accepted his hand out, dropping it almost as quickly as Hilde had.

 

The tall, blond man took a step back, his cape - he was wearing a fucking  _ cape _ \- billowing in the wind, and eyed them consideringly as they stepped away from the limo and allowed the driver to close the door behind them.  He smirked as he took in the closeness between them, how Relena moved into Hilde’s personal space, almost without thought.  

 

The limo pulled away, and Peacecraft stepped forward, leaning to brush a barely-there kiss across Relena’s cheekbone.  “Relena, dear, I’m so glad you could make it.”  He took a half step back and reached out for Hilde’s hand.  “And you’ve brought a… friend.”  The word sounded vaguely amused, knowing.

 

Hilde accepted his hand, moving to shake it, but he made some sort of twisting gesture and instead brought her hand to his lips, his breath ghosting across her knuckles more than his lips.

 

“Hilde,” she said, as he released her.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Likewise, I’m sure,” he answered, and motioned for them to precede him.  

 

They were at the American Museum of Natural History, and Hilde had been here before, of course, a half dozen times as a kid, for field trips and the like.

 

She’d never been for a black tie event.

 

Inside the Roosevelt room a concierge waited, taking their coats with brisk efficiency, and they followed Milliardo down the hall through the darkness of the rainforest, and turned right, into what Hilde and her school friends had always laughingly referred to as the whale room.  

 

For good reason.  

 

The room, two stories high and surrounded with dioramas of sea and arctic life, held a life-sized, giant blue whale, dangling from the ceiling. 

 

As kids, they’d had competitions to see which of them could throw their chewed-up gum the highest, to see if they could make it stick to the whale’s underbelly.

 

And now-

 

Now she was here, Relena’s arm tucked into her elbow, in a silk ball gown, being hosted by one of the richest men in New York for his  _ birthday _ , and it was…

 

Surreal.

 

And overwhelming.

 

Glancing down at Relena, she saw the other woman’s eyes widen as they entered the room through the familiar dark, gaping entrance, where she’d probably chaperoned at least a few field trips of giggling, misbehaving children, to find a string quartet playing, and hor’dourves, and men and women attired in silk and diamonds, underneath the replica of a 94ft, 200 ton animal.

 

As they started down the grand staircase, Hilde realized that they were in way, way over their heads.

 


End file.
